Coffin Fit

Hardly a Halloween has gone by without the Deadbeats coming to town. Most of the locals even have a hard time remembering the last time Deep Valley celebrated All Hallows Eve without the band appearing in some form or fashion. Old man Wichum swears the group performed at the 1958 Halloween Hayride. The teenagers will hear nothing of it. No way the hottest rock group around has been around for fifty years.

“What do they do the rest of the year?” Sarah Bly asks the old man.

“Well I suppose theys play elsewheres,” replies Wichum. “Prolly makes their ways to New Yark City or Los Angel-eez.”

“Must be,” adds Sarah’s friend Tad Layt. “must be.”

For Deep Valley the arrival of the Deadbeats and the annual fall festival means the largest gathering of towns folks all year long. This is their Fourth of July and Christmas all rolled into one. Without this night and the weeks of preparation leading up to it the holidays that follow cannot happen as traditionally planned. The fall harvest provides the bounty for the remaining year’s celebrations.

“Is something on fire?” says Sarah looking down at the fog surrounding her feet.

“Naw,” replies the old man. “They’z arrived.”

Through the clearing Sarah can see the front of a shiny black bus. Across the top just above the window are the words “The Deadbeats Tour 2008.”

“They’re here!” she shouts. “The Deadbeats are here!”

A silence comes over the town’s main street as the bus passes by. In minutes the large dark vehicle carrying the evening’s guests of honor disappears behind the lodge. Almost immediately the normal hustle and bustle of preparing for the festival resumes as if nothing had happened.

“Do you think they’ll come out before the show?” asks Sarah.

“Naw,” mumbles the old man. “They never do.”

There was a time when the people of Deep Valley would debate the reasons for the band only appearing onstage when in town. It used to be a topic of heated discussion, almost as hot a topic as the town having to agree that all its citizens be free of alcohol the week of the festival for the privilege of having the band perform each year. These days it is just accepted as the norm, a common occurrence that no longer requires explanation.

The fog thickens as darkness sets in, in the clearing just on edge of town drums echo. It is a signal that the festival has begun. Folks from all over the valley arrive carrying their harvest donation for the celebration that will soon begin. In no time the clearing is full of people. No one dare miss the show. Missing it brings the fear that it will disrupt the balance of life for the remainder of the season.

Suddenly the valley erupts in an explosion of sound. The curtain drops revealing four men dressed head to toe in black leather and attacking musical instruments as if trying to keep them at bay. The sound is nearly deafening and the crowd cheers in response.

“Are you ready for the ha-a-a-arvest!” Screams the Deadbeat prowling near the front of the makeshift stage. “It’s time for the celebrat-shun! It’s time for the feast!”

The people of Deep Valley move closer each trying to get their harvest offering to the stage. Getting their offering onto the stage is considered a great honor. Being the first is believed to bring great fortune and health.

Sarah, struggling to keep up with her father is suddenly lifted into his arms and pushed towards the stage. Her heart is racing. Sarah can suddenly feel her feet touch the hard wood of the stage. She looks around in excitement and is met by the red-eyed stare of the closest Deadbeat.

“Are you ready?” he asks smiling. “Are you ready for the feast?”

Up close Sarah can clearly see his sharp-toothed grin.

A scream echoes across Deep Valley.

In the distance an old man laughs and walks away.